Micro Center Computer Store Macro Marvelous

We went. We saw. We bought, very much needed new laptop to replace the old slowly to run clunker, and an iPad2 to Skype the family far away.

Let me explain why this hadn't happened before. Having once upon a few years ago walked into the shiny and then empty Apple Store on a dull weekday on North Michigan in Chicago, I couldn't get any sales person's attention. They were too busy talking, with each other. After one pass through two floors I stormed out and went home. My chum in Scranton stormed out of a Best Buy, when the twit in Best Buy uniform said "...well, people YOUR age..." She never heard the rest. She was GONE. Really, having an AARP card does not mean you are a computer cretin. We too have money, actually more--if statistics are right.

So into Micro Center we went. I was skeptical, despite a friend's waxing on about how wonderful they were. I mean, really? She was right, as usual. Not only did the marvelous Molly help my husband replace the amazingly arthritic laptop he currently wrestles with, the educated Ed patiently helped me sort through the iPad2 covers. The iPad2 I wanted was easy, the cover took time.

Expecting to go to the check out on our own, we learned--no, first the manager on the floor wanted to personally THANK us for our purchase. And did so, like she actually meant it. Oye veh. Such kindness. Would she invite us next to her baby shower?

Now we go to the clerk? Yes, but Molly accompanied us there carrying our three selections for us. Felt like concierge computer store service despite prices that beat the competitors--yes, I'm talking to you two too Amazon and Best Buy (where I have also been ignored like I was just another wrinkly).

So three, nah...make that 5 star cheers for Micro Center. Who has to advertise when you have me and others to do it for you?

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    Candace Drimmer

    I was an accidental expatriate; love and marriage led me to it. One day I was a bandy-legged kid sitting atop my dogwood tree looking out of my small backyard world in 1950s New Jersey, wanting to move somewhere--anywhere, different. Next thing I knew my father had accepted a job in Houston TX. I was ecstatic, it was a foreign land in 1961 America. After high school graduation, my parents’ gave me a matched set of fawn-colored hardsided American Tourister luggage. Taking the hint, I went to college; well four colleges in five years--it was the 60s after all. Meeting a young hirsute anti-war, soon-to-be-Peace Corps volunteer, I fell in love. After finishing up college coursework for my degree, but before I even walking a graduation stage, I grabbed the paper airline ticket my boyfriend had sent me, my brand-new passport, and was off to the airport and Lima, Peru.

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